Memo Clips and Tabloid Bits
by Tommehbell
Summary: The beginning of the infamous career of Rita Skeeter


Hogwarts didn't know what it was in for sending out this particular letter. Though if you asked the letter this it would have told you that it never makes mistakes and that was all it would say.

But the letter was out and she was going.

It was a month before the term started and the family was out to do the necessary school shopping. Mother and father wanted to start off in the robe shop. The family wasn't rich and they knew the second hand robes were going to go fast, but the little girl with the loose flowing hair wanted to go to the bookstore. Besides, she rather thought she was too good for second hand robes. And that was all there was to it. And the robe shop was where the family was going.

However the little girl was marching up to Florish and Blotts. She pushed open the door with an authoritative air. This was an epic day for her. A day she wanted to remember. It was her first time in the bookstore, and her little heart was pounding away in her chest. Her cloud of blonde hair kept falling into her face and she kept swiping at it. Her mother was instantly at her side trying to smooth it down.

The little girl swatted at her mother's hands, "Oh mother do leave it." she said. Her mother was forever fussing over her. The little dresses, the socks, the pink and the white. It was enough to drive any eleven year old crazy. Belfry crazy if all you wanted was a pair smart pants and sturdy shoes to run through the grass and jump over ponds. The mother stepped back, a hurt look on her face, but the child had been willful since birth and one would think she would be used to it by now.

The girl wandered through the stores, her eyes having trouble processing the sheer number of the books that the store could hold. She had never seen so many all in one place, and her little bedroom by the shore held as many books as she had been able to get her hands on. That was a lot. She was sure no one else back home had as many books as she did. She walked up one aisle and down the other, her little hand ran over the spines of the books, she read ever title, memorized every author. If there was a heaven surely this was the waiting room. "One day my book will be here," she said to herself. It had been her mantra since the day she picked up her first quill.

"Want to be a writer dear?" a pleasant voice asked. The girl turned around and looked at the woman.

"I will be a writer," she declared. The forcefulness of her statement made the woman stagger back a bit. It wasn't everyday a child walked in a book store and declared they wanted to be a writer with the forcefulness of a rabid bulldog. Let alone one so young. It was a tad unsettling. The woman was of the opinion that the written word was dead. She nodded toward the little girl and went about the busy of helping her child with their book selection.

The girl's parents were off getting her the necessities of a new student heading off to Hogwarts, but the child could have cared less. This trip to Diagon Ally had been all about Florish and Blotts if you asked her. She had 5 galleons in her pocket, and she was itching to buy a new book, and she just wasn't finding anything that tickled her fancy. All the kids books were horribly childish and well below her reading capabilities. It frustrated her to the brink of madness to be treated like a child.

Her face was screwing up for a tantrum. This wasn't going right, nope not at all. This trip to the bookstore was supposed to culminate in the acquisition of a new treasured friend that she could read under the safety of her duvet in her bedroom. She'd been saving some Easter chocolate for the occasion and there was a jug of Lake District water in the fridge with her name on it. Her face started to turn read and hot tears burned behind her eyes. She stamped her foot. This was it. She was heading into full meltdown mode. She looked around for her parents. They needed to witness her tantrum.

A camera flashed in her face and she almost fell over. Black dots danced painfully in front of her face. "Hey what's wrong with your face," a tiny voice asked. The little girl monetarily forgot the massive tantrum she was building up to and looked down at the little boy talking to her. The huge camera he was carrying making up the bulk of his frame, and that was saying something. It was a massive black contraption with the flash capability of an atomic bomb. She really wondered how his neck was able to support the weight.

The girl fixed her face. It wouldn't do with someone finding her crying. Throwing a tantrum to get her way was one thing. Having a compatriot seeing her cry was another thing entirely. "What's wrong with your height?" she shot back and the boy smiled, which caused the little girl to smile.

He reached out his small hand for her to shake. "People call me Hiccup." he said.

The little girl grabbed his hand and gave it a nice little pump, "Margarita Skeeter. Writer extraordinaire." she told him.

And this is how the story beings.


End file.
